


all the daydreams in my gallery

by sugarybowl



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blasphemy probably, Catholic Imagery, M/M, arthur is kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarybowl/pseuds/sugarybowl
Summary: For my Inception Bingo square "Confessions".





	all the daydreams in my gallery

Arthur averts his eyes almost as soon as they fall upon Eames.

“Why are you half forged?” he asks, leveling the accusation as if Eames were strutting around their workspace with his pants unbuttoned.

“I’m not half forged, Arthur, whatever that means,” he says casually as he peers into the mirror, “I’m simply dressed for the part.”

Arthur can see that, the neat lines of the black robe and the crisp white collar up against his thick throat.

“Well hurry up and get the rest of it on then,” Arthur mutters, suddenly very interested in the shine of his shoes. He’s dreamed himself into a pair he’s been salivating after but hasn’t brought himself to actually treat himself to.  Arthur likes to be well dressed, but there were some expenses that were just so extravagant –

“I can actually hear you thinking yourself out of that blush, Arthur,” Eames drawls out, making Arthur curse and look him square in the eye in defiance.

“Can you get on with it?”

“Arthur, darling,” he says, voice unrolling like a bolt of silk, “Is the sight of me in holy garb brining up some sort of long repressed altar boy yearning?”

“I’m Jewish.”

Eames laughs, standing and then turning to positively stalk toward him, “The kink still stands, luv.”

“Get on with the forge, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says, regretting his decision to test run the level with Eames alone.

When the timer runs out he can feel the self-satisfied grin coming from the lawn chair beside him before he even opens his eyes, so Arthur takes pains to avoid Eames’ all too knowing gaze and rattle off as many orders and notes as he can come up with. He’s almost certain he can get out of this unscathed when his laser focus on his upside-down notebook is disturbed by the press of warmth at his back.

“Bless me father for I have sinned,” he whisper-hums into his ear.

“Eames,” he warns.

“It has been lifetimes of debauchery since my last confession,” he continues, hot and ridiculous and dizzying, “I have committed numerous sins of lust and coveting, and I don’t repent a one.”

“Eames,” Arthur tries again, much weaker now.

“Forgive me,” Eames whispers, his tone no longer teasing, “for leaving you to smolder in your lust when we could be burning for it together.”

 


End file.
